ArchivedLogs:Pesto

Pesto
Dramatis Personae Micah, Ion
In Absentia	19 May 2014 Lunchtime chats!
Location <NYC> Lower East Side
Historically characterized by crime and immigrant families crammed into cramped tenement buildings, the Lower East Side is often identified with its working-class roots. Today, it plays host to many of New York's mutant poor, although even here they are still often forced into hiding. It is after work hours, but not growing dark just yet due to the lengthening late spring days. Without stopping between work and picking up items to help outfit Evolve, Micah is still dressed in a TARDIS-blue polo shirt and khakis. His auburn hair is particularly mussed, a little sweat-damp from helping move furniture and place decor on a humid, off-and-on sprinkling day. He has a paper bag rolled in one hand as he walks back out toward his van (also TARDIS-blue, with a gorilla in a racing wheelchair emblazoned on one side). The roar of Ion's motorcycle is audible before he's ever even in sight, thrumming from around the corner before he comes zooming around it. The bike whooshes right past Micah, a black-and-chrome Harley with the vanity plate WIRED. Ion is sporting his /proper/ MMMC kutte today, leather vest with its Mutant Mongrels insignia on flagrant display; the enormous design on its back features his trademark version of the MMMC logo, inhuman horned-fanged skull with crossed lightning bolts in place of crossbones; he has the vest on over top of a plain black tee, dark jeans, tall stompy boots. Micah's van is way /more/ identifiable than Ion's bike, though; it takes only a second after he's zoomed off before he's veering back /around/ to pull up behind the TARDIS-van. He yanks his helmet off once he's stopped the bike, scrubbing his hand through squished-down helmet-hair beneath to return it somewhat to its usual loose curls. "Eyyyy, Cyborg." Helmet set in front of him, he leans over to one side to offer Micah a fist out (clad in fingerless leather gloves), presumably for knuckletapping. "What you up to, vato?" The revving engine draws Micah's attention before Ion comes into sight, as well. He pauses mid-step, head turning to regard the approaching motorcycle. The familiar insignia draws a smile that only broadens once Ion's helmet is removed. He changes directions slightly to end up at Ion's side, fist out to bump. "Hey, Ion. Was deliverin' things over at Evolve, helpin' set up now the paintin's done. S'time for a dinner break now." He holds up the paper bag in his hand. "Other folks're mostly hanging out at the shop, but I needed t'get away from the fumes for a bit. Was just gonna sit in the van t'eat. How's things?" Ion's knuckles tap against Micah's, his smile bright and wide. "Evolve, shit. Painting's done? Like a goddamn phoenix, huh. When's it gonna be caffeinating us again?" He kills his engine, swinging his leg over the side of the bike so that he can face Micah properly. "Way better ways to get high than paint fumes, though, yeah?" He jerks his chin towards the bag. "What you got there?" "Yeah, we did the walls up awhile back but Jax's been fancyin' up the ceilin' an' some details all artsy-like," Micah confirms, his own smile broad and pleased at how things are coming along. "Should be up May 29 if all goes accordin' t'plan. An' yeah, man. Gives me a killer headache after awhile. Guess Jax's used to it an' Shane's just...place is his baby, y'know?" Micah moves and unlocks the back of the van, opening the doors so he can sit with his legs hanging out. "S'just a sandwich an' chips. Okay...y'ask the shop I picked it up at, s'a malapesto panini an' kettle chips. Y'want half?" He lifts the bag slightly again with the question. "He gonna make it mad pretty, yeah? Everything that boy does. Mad pretty." Ion hops down off his bike, tucking his helmet back beneath his arm and sauntering towards the van. "The fuck is a malapesto? I don't know that thing. Don't say no to food ever though. That little kid of yours, he's really going to -- run his own. Place?" He turns to sit up beside Micah, setting his helmet down next to himself. "I got some pills. For a headache. You want?" "Oh, for sure. S'alrighty gorgeous an' it ain't even done. Shane wants t'display art, too. Maybe do that thing some places do where they sell things for local artists, change stuff out all the time, y'know? But specifically givin' artists with special abilities a place t'show their work." Micah unrolls the top of the bag, pulling out a foil-wrapped package and splitting off half to hand over to Ion. "S'tomato an' mozarella an' basil leaves an' pesto on a baguette. Very European." He chuckles at that last. "Yeah, he's doin' it. Got help, though. Friend of Jax's from back in high school. She's got experience runnin' a bakery-creamery kinda thing off on the west coast somewhere. So she should be able t'keep 'im steered straight from the business end." He just shakes his head at the pill offer. "Nah, think I'll be okay with fresh air an' food." "Huh. Freak shop, freak artists. Sure that's gonna go over good." Ion grins as he takes the half a sandwich, bumping is shoulder up lightly against Micah's. "Gracias. Pesto makes everything feel more like spring, yeah? Something about it. What's creamery?" He peels back the foil, taking a hungry bite of sandwich. "Water? Neck rub? Headaches, they're no fun. -- Do /normal/ kids run coffee – shops?" "S'gonna go over great, yeah. Security's gonna be a...serious consideration." Micah's lips twitch over to one side, eyebrows bowing to one another faintly. "No prob. Yeah, I think it's one of those herbs that comes in early. Makes people think of their gardens." He takes a bite of the panini, chewing quietly for a moment. "S'a shop where they make'n sell ice cream. I got some water in my..." He reaches into his messenger bag, pulling out a water bottle. He unscrews the top and takes a swig before offering it over. "No, s'not...typical. But neither are our kids, so there's that." "Don't he got, ah, school? There time for them-both?" Ion takes another bite of sandwich, accepting the water to take a large pull from it. "Ice cream, shit, that's /really/ gonna feel like summer. You-all got no plans? The kids they'll have break, no?" He sets the water back down between them, pulling one leg up to rest his heel on the lip of the van. "Hey, he run into problems down here, I know lotta people. Hang out down this way. Can hang out a little /closer/, discourage no troublemakers." "He does. He's been...driftin' out of it for a long time, though. I'm lookin' into whether he can't get some work study credit for the shop. He's takin' business classes online that we might be able t'get 'im dual-enrollment credit for, too. S'just gotta finish all the /required/ coursework. I think it'll work out in the end s'long as he's still willin' t'try," Micah explains between bites of sandwich. "Not sure what we're doin'. Should at least take a three-day weekend an' go down, visit Jax's parents. They got a farm. S'quiet...nice. Should stop an' visit m'folks sometime, too. It's just...tight. I been off work on an' off with injuries. Jax's been off a good minute finishin' school an' with injuries, too. Picked up a huge loan for gettin' things fixed after Sublime scrambled m'coconut." He taps a finger to his temple. "Kinda just need t'/work/. A lot." He nods at the offer of hanging around. "I'm not gonna turn down folks wantin' t'keep m'kid safe. Thanks." "S'a good kid. You got good kids. Good --" Ion's brow furrows for a moment, attention somewhat distracted as he munches his sandwich. "Tight? What, money? Injuries -- fuck, man." His head shakes, and he turns sideways to face Micah, his leg tucking up beneath him. "What's wrong with this fucking world I don't know. You two, everything you do. For every-fucking-body. You can't afford a damn vacation?" His tongue clicks against his teeth. "Shit ain't right, cyborg. Here." He sets the half-sandwich down in his lap, turning one hand over to unstrap the somewhat ridiculous-gaudy watch he wears from his wrist and hand it towards Micah. "Sunshine, he likes shiny-thing no? You take this. Give him some /bling/. Pawn it and take a vacation. Something. How many lives you all save you should have a fucking. Day off." "A little, but...s'pretty much /because/ we keep doin'...stupid, dangerous stuff. Gotta pay for it somewhere, right?" Micah shrugs, expression turned a little sheepish, a light blush dusting across his cheeks. "Ohgosh. Oh. No, goodness, I can't just..." His non-sandwich-holding hand holds up palm-out as if warding off the attempted gift. "Honey, it's okay. We just have t'be careful with finances is all. Problem is more we been takin' a lot of time off. S'just been school time an' recovery time an' the like. Really, it'll be okay." The light blush finds a darker shade of red to settle into. Ion's tongue clicks against his teeth again. "S'just a watch, vato, I got another. I'm never on time for shit anyway." He holds the watch out on a palm, brows raising. "That stupid-dangerous stuff, it given me my fucking /life/, man. Be still in a rat-cage. 'sides you given me lunch too." He lifts the sandwich indicatively in his other hand. "This, just, what. Can't even come close to a fucking thank-you present. Can be late birthday one instead. Or early. Don't know when's your damn birthday." "It just looks...expensive. I don't wanna just...be takin' things from folks all the time. Ohgosh." Micah's blush isn't going anywhere any time soon. "Y'don't have to...I mean, it ain't like Jax takes /payment/ for the heroics, it ain't... People /deserve/ not t'be in those labs is all. Ain't like. Oh, goodness, apologies, honey..." He just ducks his head, not really able to complete a full thought in conversation. "Was in November. S'about equally far away in either direction. An' that would be one pricey lunch." He offers a hint of lopsided grin, despite the red-face. "Is it? I don't know. And what you ever tooken from me, huh? I mooch your food, your home, your fucking kids every Friday. Maybe he took a present once-a-while you'd afford more vacation." Ion sets the watch down on the van's floor between them, lifting his hand to rest on the back of Micah's neck; his fingers knead briefly in at the base of the other man's skull. "Maybe you don't have vacation. Maybe you sell it, buy your next crop of labrats some food and clothes, little-bit." He drops his hand again, taking another bite of sandwich as he hops up off the van's floor. "S'good. Pesto. Can't be hard to cook this, you think?" "Just meant...in general." Micah shrugs, sighing softly. He does finally pick up the watch, tucking it into one of the inside compartments of his bag, after all of the further explanations. "Thank you, honey. It is...even those parts do get expensive. Apologies again. Didn't mean t'make the whole conversation turn into that." He leans into the other man's touch, the sigh a little deeper. "Thanks. It's, no, it's not hard at all. S'just about gettin' good, fresh ingredients, is all. Pretty quick-simple kinda meal, really." Ion wolfs down the last of his sandwich, rather /efficient/ at making food disappear. He crumples the foil into a ball in his palm, other hand reaching forward now that he's on his feet again to snag the water back and take another gulp. Setting the water back down, he moves his hand to curl around the back of Micah's head again, kneading in once more. "Simple, I like that. Simple-quick things good to have. Down the safehouse. Feed a lotta people quick. Should stick some herbs-boxes in the window. Some day maybe." He tips his head back, peering up past the van into the sky. His hand drops to his side again. "-- You seen Darkwing lately?" Micah takes another bite of his own sandwich, rather slower at finishing the thing off. "Yeah, s'good. Just need a blender. Real /fresh/ basil'n tomatoes. Good mozzarella. Good bread. Good t'go." His eyes fall closed at the touch to his neck. "Don't tell nobody, but yes. Cops're lookin' for 'im. He's safe where he's stayin'. We're keepin' 'im fed an' looked after an' all. Regan's found 'im a lawyer. Gonna work out a plan once they've had a chance t'meet an' discuss what 'is options are." He shakes his head at this. "It ain't fair. Hunter got spooked an' shot 'im. Then /stabbed/ 'im. An' he fought back. But 'cause he's the one with the wings'n fangs, ain't nobody gonna believe it was self defense." "{Cops? Fucking hell.}" Ion's mutter comes with a small scowl, his hand lifting to scrub into his hair. "Shiiit. You guys, you're looking after him though? He had --" His tongue runs over his teeth, and he exhales sharply. "Lawyer. Right. Jury take one look at the vampire, maybe, they already know what they think of him. Hope it's a good one. She'd have found him a good one though. She care -- lot about her friends." He scoops his helmet back up, holding it beneath an arm and not yet putting it back on. "You tell him his brothers we miss him, yeah." His mouth hooks back up in a sharp crooked grin. "And you give your husband my best too maybe. I swing by when the place is open, see if his painting it's half so pretty as /he/ is." "I know. Poor guy can't catch a break." Micah nods firmly at the question of taking care of Dusk. "Yeah, he's got good food an'...a place t'stay. Plenty of company when he wants it, lotta alone time otherwise." He half-wraps his sandwich, tucking it back in the bag when Ion looks like he's heading off. "He's s'posed t'be a good one. I ain't met 'im yet, but I get the feelin' Regan don't do nothin' by halves, so...prob'ly he's the best out there as would care 'bout a case like this." Sliding off to his feet, he moves in for a hug. "He knows, but I'll tell 'im anyhow. Don't hurt t'hear that kinda thing." He laughs outright at the last comment. "Jax's a good artist, but /that/...that's a tall order even for him." "She know what's important, that's all." Ion steps in for a hug; there's a brief static-shock zap as his arm curls around Micah, hand thumping between the older man's shoulderblades. "Hasta. You keep us posted, what's going on with Dusk, hm?" Micah's jump at the shock is subtle, his arms wrapping tight around the other man. “Will do, hon. An' y'got m'number.” He gives one last squeeze before letting Ion go. “Take care, honey.” "I got your number." Ion's crooked-bright grin flashes to Micah once more before he pulls the helmet back onto his head, squeezing at Micah's shoulder before he goes to hop back onto his bike. Its motor roars back to life before he pulls away to head back off, in the general direction of the not-too-distant safehouse. Micah chuckles, settling back into the van once Ion has zipped off. He picks up the bag again to finish off dinner and head over to Evolve again. There is still work to be done.